"Why, Marcy darling, why should she be forbidden?"
"Oh, Nonie's broadminded. She says if two people are unsuited they should separate, quietly, like you and my father. She knows we're one of the first old Southern families on my father's side. I—I'm not trying to make you talk about it, dear, but—but we are—aren't we?"
"Yes, Marcy."
"He—he was just—irresponsible. That's not being—not nice people, is it?"
"No, Marcy."
"Nonie's not forbidden. She just meant in case, momie. You see, with some old families like hers—the stage—but Nonie says her father couldn't even say anything to that if he wanted to. His own sister went on the stage once, and they had to hush it up in the papers."
"Did you explain to her, Marcy, that stage life at its best can be full of fine ideals and truth? Did you make her see how regular your own little life has been? How little you know about—my work? How away I've kept you? How I won't even play out-of-town engagements so we can always be together in our little home? You must explain all those things to your friends at Miss Harperly's. It helps—with steady people."
"I have, momie, and she's going to bring me home every afternoon in their automobile after we've called for her brother Archie at Columbia Law School."
"Marcy! the Grosbeck automobile bringing you home every day!"
"And it's going to call for me the night of the party. Nonie's getting a lemon taffeta."